Montrose City thrived in the shadows, where power dictated the rules and survival meant choosing the right side. The Blacks ran the city—the mafia that held its streets in an iron grip. Ruthless, efficient, and untouchable, they were the true rulers of Montrose. Then there were the Greys, the ones who operated in the cracks between power and desperation.
The Greys weren't crime lords or killers. They did what they had to do—smuggling, gambling, petty theft—never stepping over the line into murder. That was their rule. The Blacks used them for jobs that required subtlety rather than brute force: deliveries, reconnaissance, and minor extortions. In return, the Greys earned enough to keep their families afloat and avoided the full weight of the law.
Tonight, Elias Mercer, an old hand in the Greys, had a job to do. The Blacks had sent word—there was a package to move, something small but important. Elias knew better than to ask questions. He tightened his coat against the cold and ducked into a dimly lit alley where his contact was waiting.
"You're late," muttered the man, his voice gruff and impatient. He was a Black enforcer, towering over Elias with a presence that demanded obedience. "You know the deal?"
Elias nodded and accepted the small black case. "No complications, no problems. Just the way we like it."
The enforcer smirked. "Good. Because if you screw this up, you're out. And you know what that means."
Elias did. Being cut off from the Blacks didn't just mean losing jobs—it meant losing protection. The city was unforgiving, and without a powerful hand over you, survival became a gamble.
As Elias moved through the city streets, he felt the weight of the package pressing against his palm. Another job, another night spent walking the line between crime and survival. The Greys weren't saints, but they weren't monsters either. In a city that fed on the weak, they had found a way to exist.
But lines blurred easily in Montrose, and Elias knew that one wrong step could turn grey into black.